Edge Of A Knife
by chandy
Summary: A face from the past comes back to haunt one of our fave Friends
1. Chapter 1

Hey everyone! It's been a little while since I've posted. I know this is short, but it is just the prologue. So, enjoy...

The stillness of the room was broken by the groaning of the door on its aged hinges. The creaking echoed loudly in the utter silence. The door was stopped from hitting the wall by a pile of clothes strewn carelessly outside the closet. The room's only occupant lay blissfully ignorant of the intrusion. Only his subconscious may have been aware, as he shifted slightly beneath the tangled sheets.

A pair of watchful eyes took in the small movement, hesitating slightly before entering completely into the darkness. The figured blended in with the shadows, the sleeping form still oblivious to the violation.

Moonlight streamed under the crack of the door where it did not quite meet the floor, creating a jagged line of light across the intruder's boots. The footfalls were padded by the threadbare carpeting as the figure slunk back into the corner and stood watch. The moonlight bounced off the stranger's pupils, making them seem as reflective as cats' eyes.

The man in the bed grabbed the thin sheet and twisted it, straining the tinny threads in his sleep. Perhaps he was becoming aware that he was an object on display, or he was merely in the throes of some distant, ungraspable nightmare. His breath quickened, matching the rhythm of the ticking of the clock.

Beads of sweat popped up, glistening on his brow. Unbeknownst to him, the nightmare he was currently experiencing would pale in comparison to the nightmares to come in thehours ahead.

A slamming door aroused him from his slumber. He shot up, his breath caught in his throat before it could become a scream. His eyes scanned the darkness. Nothing seemed to be amiss, but he had a sense of foreboding nonetheless.

The sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing eased his mind somewhat. It was only his roommate. He was still somewhat disconcerted from the bad dream. He shook it off and laid himself back down. It was just his roommate coming home from another late date. Not exactly a new phenomenon.

That's all it was. Right? He repeated this mantra as he fell back into a fitful sleep. He did not see the shadow step out of the closet and slip out of his bedroom. He did not hear the soft click of the apartment door shutting. He was completely unaware that his roommate had inadvertently saved his life that night with his late night entrance.

And when he awoke the next morning, he remembered none of it. And he certainly could not have foreseen how by the dawning of the next day, he would be longing for the nightmare he had in his own bed. He could not have known that he would be begging for mercy from an unhinged psychopath. And he could not have known that this might be the last twenty four hours of his life.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the reviews. Sorry it's been a little longer than anticipated, but the second part is finally here. It's my first attempt at suspense, so constructive criticism is always welcome. So... let me know what you think. And of course, I don't own them (sigh).

Chandler whistled a nameless tune as he ambled down the busy New York sidewalk. His briefcase swung loosely at his side, keeping the rhythm of his stride. His coat flapped out behind him as it was caught by the brisk October wind.

A cab narrowly missed him as he stepped off the curb, but even the blaring horn could not dampen his mood. He was in high spirits. Leaving work early always put him in a better mood, but it was so much more than that. Monica had taken the day off, and he was looking forward to a spending a blissful afternoon with her.

Before London Chandler could never have foreseen the twists and turns his life would take. He never saw himself in a committed relationship with any woman, let alone one of his best friends. Monica had dictated that their relationship be kept a secret. It took everything he had to keep it to himself. Keeping a secret was not one of his stronger points. But he was determined not to screw this up. So he did it for her.

Admittedly, there was a certain logic to her reasoning. And sure, there was also a certain amount of superstition to it, and he didn't want to jinx it. But it was more than that. It was something just the two of them shared. And Chandler could respect that. He wanted to hold their relationship sacred.

The decision to tell Monica he loved her today came so quickly and easily. He didn't even need to give it a second thought. It was like he had been adrift at sea for months and he had finally found his anchor to reel him back into shore. Here - this place - was where he was always meant to be.

Chandler was lighter than air, his feet hardly touching the pavement as he rounded the last corner before their apartment building. Reality was an unwanted interruption to his daydreams, but interrupt it did, nevertheless.

He plucked his cell phone out of his coat pocket and flicked it open with a snap of his wrist. "Yeah," he barked into the phone, irritated.

He fumbled and nearly dropped the phone, causing him to drop his briefcase instead. He went back a step and retrieved it. The conversation continued as he stayed leaning against the corner of a building.

Chandler ended the conversation abruptly realizing that he had lost track of his keys. Although they were rarely a necessity, he figured it would not be prudent to leave a set of keys to his apartment floating around the streets of New York City. God knew there were plenty of crazies out there.

Head down, he scrutinized the sidewalk as he simultaneously patted himself down. _Where the hell could they have gone?_

His hands finally closed on the sought after item. They were deep down in his coat pocket, after all. He never kept them there. Feeling slightly confused and somewhat embarrassed at his absentmindedness, Chandler turned and headed in the direction of home once more.

Finally, like a mirage suddenly materializing, the apartment building was in sight. He approached the steps at a near-trot, anxious to see Monica and tell her what was in his heart. The words wanted to bubble up out of his soul.

He took the steps in leaps and bounds, stumbling only once. He quickly righted himself and made it to Monica's apartment. He flung the door open, calling out her name. There was only silence in return.

Chandler went from room to room searching for Monica, or a note, or something. He found nothing. Perplexed, he headed across the hall.

The sight that greeted him stole the breath from his throat. Monica was standing in the middle of what had once been his apartment. It was now an unrecognizable mess.

Chandler passed the shattered foosball table as he rushed to Monica's side. "Honey, are you okay?" He wrapped his arms around her trembling form.

She nodded imperceptibly as a terrible thought stampeded through his head. "Joey? Joey!" Chandler performed another room-to-room search, coming up empty.

"He's not here," Monica mumbled.

"My God," Chandler breathed. "What happened?"

His eyes scanned the ruined apartment. The recliners were slashed, the stuffing strewn about recklessly. The couch had received the same treatment. Their television lay in shards. The oddest thing was that nothing seemed to be missing - only destroyed.

"I - I um, came over to get the pan back you borrowed..." Monica trailed off, trying to explain her presence in the midst of this disaster. "I found it like this."

Chandler hugged her to him tightly. "Thank God you weren't hurt."

She affirmed this by shaking her head. "I called the police. They should be here any minute."

"Okay. Good." He continued to hold her, relieved no one had been home. The shape their belongings were in, he would hate to think what would have happened if...

Chandler struck that thought from his mind. It was too horrible to even entertain the notion. He continued to survey the damage, not able to comprehend it. A robbery was mortifying, but it had a purpose. This - this just seemed like random violence. Although no less of a violation, it was scarier somehow.

When the police finally arrived and surveyed the scene, Chandler could only watch in amazement as he clung to Monica's still-trembling form. His thoughts were going in a thousand different directions. _Who would want to do this to us... Thank God no was here at the time...What if Monica had walked in on the scum...Will the scum come back...What am I going to say to Joey.._

His mind raced with questions, but no satisfactory answers came. Since he couldn't answer his own questions, he would be no more successful when the police turned to him. His was a state of confused detachment.

Monica had been speaking to him, but he had not heard. "What?"

"Sweetie, you look pale. You need to sit down." Monica led him to a chair that had emerged relatively unscathed. Monica, for the most part, had recovered from the initial shock. She took comfort in taking care of Chandler.

Chandler let himself be led to the chair. Something in him just shut down, but it was awakened when Joey burst through the door.

"Oh my God! What happened?"

Chandler returned to a standing position. He felt incapable of speech. He shook his head as Joey stood anticipating a response. "I - I, uh dunno," Chandler muttered.

"Is everyone okay?" Joey's line of questioning was very to similar to Chandler's only minutes earlier.

"Yeah."

"What happened," Joey echoed.

Chandler was saved from trying to come up with an explanation as the policeman pulled him aside to get his report. He could see over the officer's shoulder that Monica was filling Joey in on what she knew. He could read the same bewilderment on Joey's face as he felt when he first entered the apartment.

Chandler breathed a sigh of relief when the officer was done with him. He jotted down some notes and joined his partner in giving the apartment another once over.

Joey walked up to Chandler and put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay, man? You don't look so hot?"

"So "I've been told." Chandler averted his eyes. _Why the hell was he taking this so hard?_ It was just **stuff** for goodness sake. It wasn't one of his friends.

What he had been getting in bits and pieces finally came together in his head, and came crashing down all at once. It hit him with the equivalent force of an eighteen wheeler bearing down on a deer caught in its headlights.

Joey and Monica both noticed Chandler suddenly collapse into the chair. They grew concerned as they watched the color drain from his face. Sweat broke out on his brow as his eyes locked on something in the distance.

Monica was badly frightened at Chandler's reaction. She had never witnessed him in such a state. She kneeled next to him and gently shook his shoulder. "Chandler? Honey? What is it? What's wrong?"

Chandler could not respond. He was too deep inside his own brain to be susceptible to outside stimuli.

"C'mon, dude. You're scaring Monica." Joey looked away. That wasn't entirely true. Chandler was freaking him out too.

Chandler's breathing quickened to a breakneck pace, but he was completely unaware. He did not even blink when a bead of sweat trickled into his eye. He only vaguely heard someone say. "I think he's in shock."

What Chandler had finally figured out was - this wasn't a random act. They were targeted. The only real question, the only important one was, who was the target. And Chandler had a sinking, sickening pang deep in his gut that it was him.

That was his last coherent thought he had before he sank into the blackness.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Chandler awakened to the claustrophobic sense that he was being watched. He squinted against the bright lights. He was alone in the sparse, white room.

He couldn't quite place where he was. His brain was still too foggy with...sleep? Sleep wasn't the right term. Chandler tried to piece together the events that had led him to being flat on his back in an unknown location.

The fog was beginning to lift, but he didn't have to wonder for long. Monica and Joey entered, each carrying a cup of coffee. From their haggard appearances it looked as if they had been up all night, but that was only partially true. It was the middle of the night, the dawn a couple of hours off.

"Hey, man. You're awake." Joey had always had a penchant for stating the obvious. As if he realized this, he cleared his throat and turned to Monica.

"You scared us, Chandler," Monica slightly admonished.

"Where am I?" Chandler knit his brow in confusion, still unable to grasp what had happened to him.

Monica scooted a chair closer to the bed and sat next to him. "You're in the emergency room at the hospital. You blanked out on us and then just sort of ... passed out. The officer that questioned you called an ambulance, and here you are." Monica squeezed his hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Foolish." Chandler played with a string on the blanket. "When can I go home?"

"The doctor just wanted to watch you. He said you were fine, just in shock. I imagine after they check you out again, they'll let you go home."

"I'll go let them know you're awake." Joey pointed to the door and then made a quick exit.

Monica took advantage of their moment alone. She kissed him on the lips. "Baby, you had me so worried. Don't do that again."

"I'm sorry." He once again entwined his fingers in hers. He made several false starts to say something before he could actually form words. "Monica..."

"Yeah?"

"I've got something to tell you. It's important." Chandler tried to gather his courage. This wasn't the ideal situation to tell someone you loved them, but he wanted to say it while he had the chance. He opened his mouth to speak, but the doctor interrupted him.

"Well, Mr Bing. Welcome back! How are you feeling?"

Chandler rolled his eyes, irritated. "I'm fine. When can I get out of this place?"

"Soon, I believe. I just need to examine you and we'll go from there."

The doctor advanced and proceeded to poke and prod Chandler with various instruments. Chandler endured this embarrassment so he could get the hell out of there.

He answered multiple questions until the doctor seemed satisfied. "Well, everything checks out. I feel comfortable letting you go as long as you have someone to look after you tonight."

Monica stroked Chandler's shoulder. "Oh, that won't be a problem." Chandler smiled up at her, grateful.

"Okay, I'll draw up the paper work while you get dressed."

Monica pulled his bag of clothes out from underneath the gurney and set them on top. She started to untie the hospital gown, but Chandler stopped her. "It's okay. I can do it. Really," he insisted, seeing her hesitating.

"Well, okay," she said reluctantly. "I guess I'll go tell the guys and then we'll get the car. I should only be five minutes. Meet you out front?"

Chandler nodded, but he didn't have time to respond otherwise. Monica was gone in a flash, having forgotten that Chandler wanted to tell her something.

He sighed and sat up, pulling his shirt and pants on. He had just finished tying his shoe when the nurse entered with the discharge paperwork. Chandler quickly signed out, only half hearing her instructions. He was too emotionally drained to process anything.

He stepped out the automatic doors into the still, black night. Monica and the others were nowhere in sight, but given Monica's sense of punctuality, he knew it wouldn't be long. He settled into a bench positioned off to the side of the main entrance.

The leaves rustled slightly as a gust of wind blew. Otherwise the night was eerily silent. Chandler shifted uncomfortably, silently wishing for them to hurry up. It was an irrational feeling, but he was totally creeped out.

The paranoia was getting the best of him. He swore he had heard a noise that was out of place. He glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing. He mentally chided himself for his sudden jumpiness.

_What the hell was holding them up?_

A set of headlights coming at him sent a flood of relief coursing through his body, but his heart stuttered when he realized it wasn't Phoebe's cab. His eyes scanned the vast parking lot as he heard an engine rev.

Chandler felt an icy finger poking into the back of his neck. He attempted to turn, but was stopped by a hand on the side of his face. "Don't move."

Chandler's heart started galloping in his chest, his breath coming in small, harsh bursts. He felt the sharp poke move from his neck to the small of his back.

He heard the engine coming closer and felt a glimmer of hope. That hope was crushed as he was dragged around the corner and into the bushes.

The foliage made dry snapping sounds as he was pushed along the back of the building to an unlit corner of the parking lot. He was forced over to an old, dilapidated car and watched in horror as the trunk popped open.

In the distance he could hear familiar voices. The hope welled up again as he recognized Monica's slightly irritated, slightly panicked voice. He opened his mouth to scream for his friends, but a sharp jab to the back caused him to close his mouth with a snap.

"Go ahead. Scream for you friends. Scream for help. Give me an excuse."

Chandler waged an internal battle. Could he yell for his friends to come to his aid while simultaneously twisting away from this madman? Could he outwit him and escape his grasp? Overpowering him was out of the question. Weapon versus no weapon won out every time. He was wrought with indecision.

His moment of hesitation would unknowingly cost him dearly in the torturous hours to come. At the break of dawn he would beg and plead to come back to this moment, and choose differently, taking the risk.

But he foolishly believed the voice when it said: "If you cooperate, you won't get hurt." He felt the sharp jab in his back again, then a small amount of warmth as a trickle of blood soaked through his shirt. "But if you scream..." A soundless chuckle fell next to his ear. "If you scream, I swear - I swear I will gut you like a fish."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Yay! Finally another part. Sorry for the delay, but I was without internet access for several days. And then the site wouldn't let me upload it for the last 2 days. But alas, it's finally up. Hope it was worth the wait ;)

And of course I don't own them...

"Where the hell is he?"

"Monica, calm down." Ross tried to lay a consoling hand on her shoulder, but it was abruptly brushed off.

"Calm down! And how would you suggest I do that when our friend is missing?" Monica continued to frenetically pace outside the main entrance to the hospital emergency room.

"Did you check with the nurse? Maybe they took him for a test or something," Phoebe offered.

Monica scoffed at this idea. Chandler had signed himself out, indicating that further medical treatment was an unlikelihood. Her attention turned to Joey and Rachel, running up to them from the far side of the parking lot.

Both were slightly out of breath, but it was Joey who got his wind back first. "There's no sign of him." Rachel shook her head from side to side in agreement.

"It doesn't make sense. Chandler wouldn't just wander off." Monica ran a nervous hand through her dark hair.

"Chandler wasn't himself today." Monica threw daggers with her eyes at Joey. His shoulders slumped. "I mean you saw the state he was in. Maybe - maybe he relapsed or something and doesn't know what he's doing."

"No way," Monica refuted. "He was back to normal when he woke up, Joey. You know that. May I remind you that you were there too?"

Phoebe stepped in between them "Hey, come on you guys. This isn't helping."

"Phoebe's right. Let's look at the facts. It's the middle of the night and Chandler would not just decide to take a stroll. We already determined that he signed himself out. The nurse confirmed that so Chandler is not off at some test. So, to me that suggests that there really is only one possibility." Ross ticked these points off on his fingers as he spoke.

Rachel thought she knew where Ross was heading, but she still couldn't bring herself to believe it. "So, what are you saying, Ross?"

"I'm saying - what I'm saying is that I think we need to call the cops. I think our friend is missing."

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Chandler's body rocked back and forth with the motion of the car. He had no idea where he was or where he was being taken. The only thing he knew for sure was that he was in the hot, cramped trunk of a car.

His attacker had forced him in there at knife-point. Although Chandler had climbed in willingly enough, the bastard had still bound his feet and hands together with duct tape.

Chandler twisted and turned and fought the bindings, but all he got for his efforts was a good, swift blow to the head. He tried to shake off the double vision long enough to get a good look at the asshole who was doing this, but his face was obscured by some weird nylon mask. All Chandler could make out was that it was, in fact, a face that belonged to a male.

After he was bound up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey, the kidnapper slipped a blindfold on him and duct taped his mouth closed. As the trunk lid closed out the last vestiges of moonlight, Chandler thought, _Now what good is a gag gonna do? Like there's anyone here to talk to anyways._

That last thought froze his movements. There was no one. No one to help him out of this mess. Well, that wasn't entirely true. His friends were pretty smart people. They would figure out he was missing by now. Wouldn't they?

As the car bounced and throttled over the streets of New York, Chandler began to panic. He had no sense of time being essentially made blind and deaf. He had no idea where he was or where he was being taken.

He had never been claustrophobic before, but this tight, enclosed space was becoming too much to bear. His breaths came in short bursts through his nasal passage. He felt as if he were smothering.

He had to calm himself down or he really would die in this rusty, old trunk. Chandler tried to think rationally. He had read somewhere that if you were ever abducted and put in the trunk of a car, that you should kick the taillight out and stick your hand out so someone would see you and call the cops. There were two problems with this. First, he was pretty sure it was still the middle of the night so people on the streets would be few and far between. And secondly, he had very limited use of his arms and legs right now.

At the moment that he picked to change positions, the car came to a screeching halt, sending him slamming against the rear of the trunk. He felt his shoulder separate from its socket as it exploded in pain. His cry sounded more like a whimper, muffled by the tape.

Chandler heard the trunk lock pop and then swing open. He was grabbed roughly by his shirt collar and sat up straight. The man jerked him up and out of the trunk by his bad arm, causing new shockwaves of pain to cascade over his body.

Chandler managed to get his footing before he was rudely shoved forward. This time he did cry out as he stumbled.

His senses were still limited so he concentrated on the one that hadn't been blunted. He listened hard for any sounds that might give him a clue to where he was being taken, but the sad truth of the matter was that he couldn't hear a damn thing. No cars, no horns...and no people.

The mystery man shoved him up some stairs, and then down another set of stairs, and into a dank smelling space. Their footsteps echoed as he was led over to, what he could only determine to be, the middle of the room. Chandler was pushed back into a hard concrete surface.

"Sit," he was commanded.

Chandler obeyed, as if he had a real choice. He felt his hands yanked back and friction began between them.

"I'm cutting the tape. When I'm through you will keep your hands behind your back. No funny business, or you're dead. Got it?" It was a rhetorical question because Chandler couldn't really answer. He nodded his head.

His wrists pulled free of one another, but he kept his hands where they were lest the knife be used on him. The kidnapper, still holding his wrists, gave one hard tug, sending him reeling backwards into the concrete pole. Stars danced in front of his eyes as his head hit it with a hollow thud.

Chandler's wrists were once again rejoined behind him by a pair of handcuffs. The loud click as they locked seemed unnaturally loud to his ears. His shoulder ached, but that was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

Footsteps continually circled him, as a vulture circles its prey. Suddenly, the duct tape was ripped off his face, leaving his skin red and raw around his mouth. Chandler worked his jaw until his lips came unglued. "What do you want from me?"

"All in good time."

"Tell me why I'm here," Chandler said through gritted teeth. He knew he should not goad this man, this man that held a three inch long blade, but he could no longer contain himself.

The man only laughed maniacally.

"Why am I here dammit," Chandler yelled. The seeds of panic were beginning to sprout.

"Why, to have some fun. To have some laughs. I've heard you're a real cut-up." He punctuated this last statement by digging the point of the knife under Chandler's chin.

Chandler swallowed around the knife's sharp point. He prayed his friends would realize he was in danger and would come looking for him. He knew it was a longshot, but if he wasn't found soon, he would never see another sunrise again.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"What do you mean Chandler's not yet considered a 'missing person'? He disappeared outside of a hospital for God's sake." Ross was only inches away from becoming 'red Ross'.

Rachel attempted to interject the voice of reason. "Our friend's apartment was robbed only earlier today. I mean yesterday. He had to be brought here because he was in shock. I hardly think he would wander off in the middle of the night to go for a carton of milk."

"Ma'am, your friend is an adult. We simply cannot consider him a missing person unless he doesn't turn up by tomorrow."

Joey pleaded with the officer. "Look, you don't know Chandler like we do. He's responsible, dependable. He would not walk away without telling us where he was going."

"Look, your friend was in shock. Maybe it screwed with his head."

"Chandler's head was fine. I think it's your head that needs examining," Monica said sharply. "If you're not going to look for him then I guess we'll have to do the searching."

"Ma'am, I understand you're upset, but I highly discourage you from doing so. If your friend was abducted, whoever took him could be very dangerous. You'd be putting yourselves in danger too."

"Chandler's worth the risk," Monica stated. Joey nodded in agreement.

The officer sighed. "I'll see what I can do. No promises," he said as he made his way over to the squad car.

"You're useless! Useless," Phoebe called after the squad car.

"What do we do now," Rachel wondered.

"Well, I'm not gonna just sit here and wait for Chandler to magically appear." Monica resumed pacing. The other four could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

An idea dawned on Ross. "Hey, Pheebs. Do you happen to have a flashlight in your grandmother's cab?"

"Ross, this is no time to be telling ghost stories. I think we're all scared enough." Ross glared at Joey until it finally clicked. "Oh -oh, yeah."

"Oh yeah, what?"

Ross began to explain. "If Chandler was kidnapped or attacked, it would've had to be somewhere in the immediate vicinity of the hospital, right?" Ross looked around at the others for confirmation. "So, there has to be something around here. Maybe he dropped something, or... I dunno." Ross's shoulders slumped. Suddenly his brilliant idea didn't seem so brilliant anymore.

Monica's face lit up. "No, you're right. There would have to be something." Monica's face fell, suddenly doubtful. "We have to at least try."

Phoebe returned from the cab with a flashlight in hand. As the first streaks of daylight appeared in the sky, the group of friends walked slow circumferences around the perimeter of the hospital. They all kept their eyes glued to the pavement, scrutinizing it for any sign of their missing friend. The flashlight's arc swung back and forth in its search for a piece of Chandler. Its lights bounced off parked cars and broken glass. The longer they searched, the more disheartened they became.

The flashlight's beam found reflective purchase on a metal object in the corner of the parking lot. Ross, holding the flashlight, rushed over with the other four following close behind.

"Ross, what is it?"

Ross chose not to answer, focused on getting to the object. He bent down on one knee. Half hidden under an old discarded newspaper was a set of keys.

Joey appeared over his shoulder. "Those are Chandler's keys."

The four friends gave him a look to say 'how could you know'. "He, uh always kept that broken key on his key ring." Joey shrugged as if to say he didn't know why.

"Are you sure?"

Joey's shoulders sagged under the weight of the knowledge of what finding and identifying Chandler's keys meant. His best friend really was taken against his will. Right now he could be suffering, fighting for his life. And Joey had no idea where to start looking. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Ross reached for them, but hesitated. If these were evidence maybe he should leave them be. With a sudden jerk of his arm, he scooped them up. _Screw it_, he thought. The police weren't doing a damn thing.

When the keys were in his hand. His eyes fell on the pavement once more. There was a dark spot underneath where the keys had lain.

"What is it," Rachel whispered.

"Could be oil." Ross's voice sounded thin, even to himself. He knew what it was, even before he reached down and felt the warm tackiness of it, and smelled that metallic smell as he put his fingers under his nostrils. It was blood.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Chandler was so tired. By his count, he had been up for at least twenty four hours. He tried resting his head against the concrete girder, but he just couldn't get comfortable. He didn't suppose he'd be comfortable for some time to come. At least his sinister host was off somewhere at the moment, doing God-knows-what.

Maybe that wasn't such a good thing, Chandler concluded. At least when he had the man in his sights, he could watch his every move. There could be no sneak attacks.

The blindfold had been removed shortly after he was handcuffed. Chandler's eyes continually scanned the room trying to map out an escape route. It was futile anyway. He would first have to figure out how to get out of these handcuffs. And since his name wasn't Chandler Houdini, he had a better chance of sprouting wings and flying out of here.

The room wasn't as large as he had first imagined it to be. It was actually rather cramped. It almost seemed to be a storage of some kind, mismatched items strewn about in random piles. Judging by the damp, cool atmosphere he was either out by the river or below ground. _Great, that narrows it down,_ Chandler thought sarcastically.

The heavy stomping of footsteps snapped him to attention. He was too tightly bound to turn around. He braced himself for another assault. He was rewarded with a hand on his forehead, pressing him back against the concrete beam.

Chandler felt the rough edges of twine being wound around his neck, tying him in yet another place to the beam. The rope slithered around his collarbone like a snake, sending a shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he reached a new level of discomfort. His throat constricted under the rope's pressure.

"Scream, and the rope tightens. Be a good boy, and I'll **cut** you some slack. You decide how long you live."

"I thought you said you wouldn't hurt me."

The man gave an evil laugh and shrugged. "Well, what can I say? I lied."

Chandler's insides quivered. He broke out in a cold sweat. Whatever was going to happen, he prayed it would be over quick. But somehow as his captor advanced on him with the knife outstretched, Chandler knew that his blood and pain would be savored like a sweet, red wine.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

"How are the five of us gonna cover all of New York City," Rachel asked. She was overwhelmed by the enormity of their task.

"That's assuming he wasn't taken out of the city," Ross reminded them gloomily.

"I don't know how we're going to do it, but we have to try. I am not giving up until we find Chandler and bring him home." Monica set her jaw, determined.

"No one's giving up. We just have to come up with a plan." Joey above all people, wanted his best friend and roommate brought back safely. He couldn't see beyond the immediate present because when he looked to the future, horrible scenarios floated through his head.

"We need to cover as much ground as possible - and fast." Ross scanned the expectant faces of his friends and his sister. "Joey and Phoebe, you take Central Park. Rachel, Monica and I will cover the Village. We'll meet back here in two hours. If one of us finds anything, we use our cell phones to let the others know where we are and what we find."

"Okay," Monica agreed.

"If we come up empty, then what," Joey wondered.

"I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

None of them were particularly happy with that answer, but there was very little they could do except begin their search. Each one checked their cell phone to make sure it was on before they headed to their respective destinations.

Phoebe and Joey began heading towards the park. They walked in silence for a few moments. Joey seemed to be trying to work something out in his head.

"Hey, Pheebs?"

"Yeah?"

"You sometimes get ... feelings about things. Are you feeling anything now?"

"You mean besides sad and tired?" Joey chose not answer her rhetorical question. He awaited the response to his question. "I'm worried. I think all this is a waste of time."

Joey's jaw locked in anger. Before he jumped to conclusions he gave her the chance to explain. "I don't think Chandler's outside somewhere. I mean, why would his kidnapper keep him out in the open in what is soon to be broad daylight? It feels wrong. I think he's trapped inside somewhere. That's all I meant."

"Yeah. Yeah, makes sense. But I think we should still look around here just in case. If we all come up empty then we'll change our plan." Joey was rambling, trying to comfort himself. "We're gonna find him. I mean, we have to," he added under his breath.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Chandler stared, fascinated, at the knife inching its way up his dark blue oxford shirt. It stopped every inch or so to pop off another button. Eventually his shirt stood gaping open, revealing a stark white T-shirt.

His attacker tossed aside the knife and viciously ripped open the T-shirt with his bare hands. Chandler's heaving chest belied the exponential rise in his anxiety level. His abductor stared down at his bare chest hungrily. He grabbed the knife and traced the contours of his muscles. Chandler flinched away from the cold steel.

The knife suddenly stopped in the center of his chest, resting there. "I've always wanted a blank canvas," his attacker breathed in his ear

More pressure was applied to the knife as it made another loop around his torso. But still no blood was drawn. He was being strung along - being toyed with.

This fact infuriated him. There was nothing to be gained from torturing him. He wasn't wealthy, so this definitely wasn't about money. And he certainly was no CIA operative. No information he could spew forth would change the course of history. The only other option was that it was personal.

Who hated him enough to do this? Sure, he wasn't the most popular guy, but he wasn't a bad guy either. He was just kind of ... invisible.

There was another option that he hadn't quite considered. This could be just some random crime, a violent act at the hands of some sadistic maniac. He quickly dismissed this idea. He thought most psycho killers played with their victims after they were dead. _Now there's a comforting thought._

If death was the objective here, he sure wasn't going to go without one helluva fight. And he sure as hell would know who was on the other side of that knife. Chandler just had to figure out how to piss the guy off enough to reveal himself.

Chandler waited until the knife edged away from his skin before he gathered up the courage to speak. His mouth had gotten him in trouble before, but right now it was the only weapon he had. "Well, look at you. Aren't you a hotshot? Such a big knife. Compensating for something there, are ya?"

His head rocked back against the pole from the backhand his comment earned him. He wasn't surprised at this, but instead it fueled the fire. "How's that mask working out for you? I gotta tell you, it works for me. At least I don't have to look at your ugly face."

The masked felon raised his hand again, but stopped an inch short of Chandler's nose. He got up and paced anxiously about the small space. He abruptly turned and rushed over to Chandler. The knife went by in a flash. Only when it was over did Chandler realize that there was a horizontal gash across his chest.

Chandler watched the blood as it oozed out of the cut and rolled down his abdomen. It was somewhat hypnotic. But it still hurt like a sonofabitch. He channeled this pain into renewed anger. "Is that all you got? And my friends think I'm a sissy," he scoffed.

This time there was no hesitation. The knife danced across his cheek. That pain was excruciating. Chandler figured by the immediate warm wetness, that this one was a bit deeper than the last.

_C'mon, c'mon, _he urged internally. _Just a little closer._ "How pathetic are you? You have to kidnap a man right after he's released from the hospital? What's the matter? Not man enough to fight fair?"

That did it. The bastard was less than an inch from his face. He was so close, Chandler could feel his hot, sour breath on his face. The spittle sprayed like a fine mist. "Oh I'm man enough. Just you wait you little piece of shit. You'll get everything you deserve - and more." He laughed maniacally.

Chandler seized his opportunity. He opened his mouth and lunged forward. He bit down as hard as he could around the soft tissue of his nose. Chandler didn't care that the rope was cutting off his air. He hung on as long and as hard as he could. As the man pushed away, Chandler leaned back panting, gulping in some much needed oxygen.

The kidnapper yelled out, holding his injured nose. "You son of a bitch. You're gonna pay for that - slowly." He spat out a wad of blood. "Oh Jesus. I can't breathe."

Chandler had forced him to do in s fit of panic, what he did not want to do. He ripped off the mask that was now covered on the inside with snot and blood.

The attacker's back was to him and his face partially covered by splayed fingers. Chandler need him to turn around - to show his face. But how?

Chandler wracked his brain for a new tactic. As it turned out, he didn't have to. His captor lowered his hands and faced him, his sanity clearly teetering on the edge. "When I finish with you, you will be begging for death."

Chandler was deaf to the threat. He was too astonished at the face staring back at him. "You..."

TBC

Okay...I think that's a good place to leave this part ;) Any guesses as to who the mysterious masked man is?


End file.
